The Anatomy of a Break Up
by raileht
Summary: Sometimes things just fall apart.  Diane Lockhart/Kurt McVeigh


**The Anatomy of a Break Up  
><strong>by: raileht

**Summary:** Sometimes things just fall apart.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> The ones you don't know are mine, the ones you do aren't.  
><strong>Rating:<strong> T, to be safe  
><strong><br>Spoilers/Timeline:** nothing specific.

**Note:**Yes, yes, another crappy one. With a song at that. Gimme a break, yeah? It's not easy to write these days, alright?

**Song used:**  
>Lady Antebellum, <em>As You Turn Away<em>

-o0o0o0o0o-

The first thing she usually heard in the mornings were the birds.

It was always the same and she knew it was because of the feeder just outside her window, perched on a tree. Two hummingbirds, never too far from each other, would always come every morning without fail. The sounds they make remind her of home even though she was a city girl through and through where the sightings of birds were not quite as easy unless they were being drawn in by food or the parks. Oh, they had a pet bird before she had fondly named _Theodore _but that was it. He had sung beautifully for her, but nothing quite as spontaneous as the winged creatures just outside her bedroom.

Besides, sometimes she used to watch dear Theodore as a little girl and feel just a little bit sad, wondering if he ever longed to soar up high in the air. It was a lovely cage, large enough for him to fly around and stretch his wings, but she knew for a fact that the sky was larger and had more space that the gold cage could ever give him.

Thinking about the hummingbirds, she remembered they used to fight, those territorial things. Pecking, slashing and clawing at each other until he told her quite so casually that the damned birds were never going to stop until she gave them places to come to separately. She agreed, eventually, but refused to bend to the will of instinct driven creatures—who really were the little invaders of the story—without at least pretending they were meeting each other in the middle.

She had another put up but kept them close, thinking it should be a take it or leave it situation. They were birds, but they had sense so she counted on that. He'd done it for her after finding out she was calling someone to do it, teasing her about trying to negotiate with birds and being helpless though he promised he'd do it. And do he did when the same day he told her about the rules of hummingbirds another feeder was up and ready for the next morning.

They woke up early together then and watched and waited until the birds came and, to her delight, they'd taken a feeder each and proceeded to co-exist in harmony starting then.

Now, things were fine and there were no more fighting and she woke up to the singing each morning. It was nice. It calmed her and made her think good things.

That was usually the case, but unfortunately not on this particular morning.

She rolled over on her large bed then glanced sideways, catching the empty space. Even though she hadn't wanted to, her arm reached out, running over the area, frowning a little. The place where his head should have been was cold and when she reached to where his body usually lay, she got the same results. The sheets were disturbed, the pillows moved and it was obvious someone had lain there at some point during the night. Yet she found himself waking alone.

Brushing the empty space again, she realized that while the bed was cold, suddenly so was she.

And just as easy as that, she'd forgotten the birds were ever there to begin with.

-o0o-

_I'm sorry. I had to leave early. Made you coffee.__  
><em>_See you tonight at dinner. —K__  
><em>

Read once, twice then when she realized she was about to do it the third time, she stopped, crumpled the piece of paper and tossed it in the trash. The kitchen was quiet, lacking the usual activity it had gotten used to the last year or so but if she allowed herself to remember, it had been a while since any activity happened in the area during the mornings in the last few weeks. But she won't. Instead, she switched off the coffee maker and left the room.

She didn't bother to drink the coffee, she would pick one up on her way to the office.

The rest of the day she spent within closed doors, orchestrating a deal worth four million dollars where she picked up a pretty penny for the firm and herself. It took some haggling, an interesting set of knuckle breaking and, finally, a finish with a flourish worthy of the most graceful dances. She capped the night off signing a new client who was more than happy with the day's results followed by a celebratory dinner with him.

She hadn't thought about the note, not since she walked out the coffee shop with her blend in the bitter Chicago morning.

-o0o-

Two weeks pass.

And still no breakfast, the morning papers went untouched and straight to recycling. They take turns in taking out Justice then depositing him to the doggy daycare—a convenience she took full advantage of and one that he used to make endless jokes about—and so far, the dinner from the note had yet to come.

She had forgotten all about it and had, in fact, stop wondering if there would be a note waiting for her in the morning next to the coffee pot because she had stopped coming by the kitchen in the mornings.

He hadn't said a word about it and since he hadn't, he didn't remind her. He was not sure if he was upset, but in the last fourteen days, they've only caught glimpses of each other during the nights. He would come home, usually he's first, she would follow, but it would be so late by then there's nothing left to say but a quiet good night and they both want nothing except sleep.

Sometimes she comes in and he's already in bed, on the verge of sleep. She's considerate enough to make sure she doesn't startle him awake and makes little fuss every time. He's pretended to be truly asleep a total of four times and nobody mentions it—although whether it's because they haven't had any time to mention anything or maybe she truly doesn't notice whether he feigns sleep or not, he wasn't sure.

He's not sure what he prefers so he preferred to pretend he doesn't notice that it's been fourteen days.

And that he had stopped making coffee before he leaves in the morning.

-o0o-

Another three days.

But the monotony was broken from catching each other late to finding her home ahead of him. It was barely seven but she was there and he caught her quite literally in the middle of kicking her shoes off while she sat on her bed.

"Hi," was all she managed before collapsing onto the heavy covers, sideways so even when her eyes were half-closed, she was still able to see him.

He stood there, watching her for a moment before replying, "You okay?"

"Fine," she smiled a little, "Just tired."

"I got Justice," he made a motion with his head, indicating that the dog was somewhere in the house.

"Thanks," she smiled, getting up again though it's quite obvious that her body was protesting in all shapes and form.

Without a word, she stood up, crossed the room and met him at the door. He didn't protest when she raised her arms and easily wrapped them around his waist. She let out a breath when she felt him do the same with her, his warm hands running the length of her waist while pressing his lips into her hair. Not another word was needed as she lay her head on his shoulder, let her eyes drift close and breathed.

_Standing face to face__  
><em>_Wrapped in your embrace__  
><em>_I don't wanna let you go_

"It's been hell," she confessed quietly.

"I can see that," he said and she felt the vibration under his skin as he spoke and she allowed that to lull her into relaxation.

She was fine standing there with him, just standing there, listening to him breathe, speak and his heartbeat. She liked the feeling, mostly because he's warm and she reveled in that. She didn't think about the stiffness in the gesture, the way it felt as if something had changed in a way that she couldn't really pinpoint. The changes were subtle, so subtle that it was enough for logical her to ignore and blame the rest on her being so tired.

Ignorance is bliss.

And as for him, he was not entirely sure what was happening so, instead, he placed another kiss on the top of her head and held her just a little bit tighter. She didn't protest or say anything else. They just continued to stand there, in the silence, listening to each other breathe and didn't let go.

He wasn't sure if she knew but he liked her warmth.

Months later he would sit and wonder if maybe he should have told her.

_But you're already gone._

The next night he spent alone.

He was back at his place, an hour from the city, an hour away from her and the house is quiet. The cold weather has begun but he kept the place warm, glad that he'd had the mind to make sure his housekeeper knew he would be staying in the city for a while. He'd had back to back cases, it only made sense that he stayed within the city to save him time and money.

They spent the night before talking about the most random things. She cooked and he helped while the random conversations continued. She had a new client, someone wealthy, someone who was opening a business and she was very happy about it. His case was going great, the client of the firm that hired him set free by his proof that he hadn't done it. He was happy about that as well. They didn't speak about whether he would be staying longer or more. He hasn't got anything lined up next and they both know that the possibility his next work might take him out of Chicago is always there.

All in all, they don't talk about it and didn't really talk about much.

Dinner went well, a lovely wine matched the pasta she made and they spent a quiet evening together. She was tired—he told her she should have told him, he could have cooked but she swatted those comments away—so she headed off to bed and even forgot the promise she'd made to herself in his presence to start in on a book a friend had recommended.

If either noticed the strained conversation and the sudden appearance of lulls in between conversations that stretched a little and made the clinking of silverware sound just a little too loud, nobody said anything about it.

They kissed good night but he stayed in the first floor of the house, cleaning up and took out Justice for his nightly walk. By the time he got back, she was sound asleep.

And the book she meant to read was on the floor by the bed.

When he got on the bed, he held her close and she let him, but by the time he woke up the next morning, he was on the edge of his side and she was somewhere on hers. He'd woken up while the sun was barely out so he gathered his things without actually meaning to and loaded them into his car. At first he meant to let her know, but when he came in, she looked too comfortable and he didn't want to disturb her. It was a cliche, but it was true. She had been tired the night before, he couldn't find it in himself to deprive her of more sleep, knowing that once she was up, she wasn't likely to go back.

So he took one last look at her as she slept, closed the door silently behind him and went down to his car. Before he knew it, he was nearly halfway to his place and it was only then he remembered he hadn't left her a note.

That was hours ago and he looked at the clock and measured then decided she was most likely still at work. He steeled himself, grabbing his phone before his mind could even counter and remind him of certain things. He was dialing before he even had the first sentence completed in his brain, no practice, no thought, no nothing.

One, two, three then voicemail—she had set it tonight it seemed and he took that as her being busy.

He didn't react, didn't even think about anything and instead left a message.

_"It's me...I'll be at my place tonight. Something's come up...work. I'll call you, alright? Drive safe. Bye."_

By the time he hung up, it was only then he realized that he had just lied to her.

-o0o-

Four days and three phone calls brought him quiet and solace while she spent her days in the courtroom.

The nights brought her home, checking last minute work and sleeping early for once. His nights had him reading and fielding a few calls on a consult for a friend who decided it was good to be in Europe and ignore the time difference. He's losing sleep but doesn't quite mind, arguing logistics as he sipped a beer or two. The irony did not escape him when he heard her mention she'd been sleeping enough and such as she finally listened to him about learning to not take the work home as much but he doesn't mention it.

As the fifth day came, it brought him right back to the city on a last minute consult from a local case. It's not big but he was happy to help after reading the reports. The woman was, to him, obviously not guilty so he lent a hand pro bono.

So he called her to let her know. He can hear her genuine surprise when he told her. She seemed pleased and when he mentioned going to lunch, she hesitated but managed to cover it up though not fast enough for him not to notice.

"Lunch..." he heard someone talking in the background, a woman. "I'm not sure it's possible right now...I'm at work and we're a little bogged down."

"Oh," he said, shoving a hand into his pocket as he watched people pass the front of the courthouse. He had time, it was early enough and an idea was already forming in his mind. "How about I _bring _you lunch? You won't have to go out and you know you gotta eat."

He heard her chuckle, the rich warm, smooth sound bringing back fond memories for him and he had to smile, "That sounds perfect. I'll be in my office."

"I'll see you then," he nodded, squinting at the sun even though he could feel the cold in his light coat, "What are you in the mood for?"

"Hm...something Asian," she hummed, "How about Chinese?"

"Chinese? Really?"

She laughed, "Yes, Chinese. I happen to like Chinese. Remember that place we went to?"

"I remember," he grinned, "You want the same?"

"Yep," she said in perfect imitation of him.

"Alright then," he grinned, "I'll be there soon."

"I'll be waiting."

He hung up, smiling to himself but it didn't last when he realized that this had been the most normal conversation they'd had for a long time now.

But he didn't think about that and instead, pushed it in the back of his mind and tried to remember what she ordered.

-o0o-

"—I'm afraid I can't. I'm meeting someone and—"

He stopped by the doors and watched as she turned in his direction and spotted him easily. There's a flush in her cheeks that he hasn't seen in quite a while and she's smiling though it only grew more when she saw him entering. The hand she had on her companion's arm falls away and she motioned in his direction.

"And he's here," she finished her sentence, obviously changing the last part then walked towards him with the man he assumes to be her new client.

He's pretty sure he doesn't know the guy but he can't help but think he's seen him before. He's tall, about his height, and his appearance seems more fitting for a cover of GQ only he would be older than their usual models. He's most likely as old as the man, but the graying at his temples makes him think the stranger had a few years on him or something but that could be for an altogether different reason.

"Christopher Drake," Diane motioned towards him, "Kurt McVeigh. He's a...consultant for our firm."

They exchanged pleasantries and he wasn't blind to the client charming the hell out of her but she smoothly diffused whatever advances were left to be laid in front of her. She'd done it with such candor and charm, he wondered if the man would ever realize he'd been rejected in the most cloak and dagger way he's seen. Instead, she gave poor Mr. Drake a playful shove out the door, reminding him she would meet him before they met with their opposition the next day. It didn't take long before she was closing the doors with a last goodbye behind her that was immediately followed by a puff of breath and a smile.

"Done," she hummed and walked towards him as he stood in the middle of the room. "Hello," she said with a smile before she gave him a kiss.

He kissed her back.

_Now you kiss my cheek__  
><em>_Soft and bittersweet__  
><em>_I can read it in your eyes_

Lunch doesn't end the way they would have preferred.

One minute he's making fun of her ordering some soggy noodles, the next they're making comments at each other. The comments turned to sarcasm, sarcasm turned to slight jabs then the jabs turned into an all-out argument. Then they're both standing, unfinished food left on the table and she's flushed in a way that he hasn't seen for a while now. She glared at him like she's never had before and he's saying things he'd never even thought of before.

She was angry and so was he and later, much, much later, he'll wonder what exactly happened and never find an exact answer that could satisfy him.

Raised voices up until past one and she stopped only because her phone beeped and reminded her she had things scheduled for the day. She gave him a slight glare, turning away from him before making a call and he stood there, watching her.

He didn't know what compelled him but before she was finished with her call, he was right behind her and turning her around to face him. She resisted, as he expected she would, but he didn't leave her much choice. Instead, he turned her around and held her. The embrace was stiff and almost detached as they were both almost cold, but she eventually relented by wrapping her arms around him.

Then a part of her reminded herself she was in her office and it was unprofessional. It was bad enough she'd let them fight in there and someone might have taken notice or even listened, but this was pushing it further. She began to extricate herself from him but he held on just a split second longer before he too let himself slip away from her. Solemn looks replaced the glares that were so carelessly thrown at each other only minutes before.

She didn't say anything except _not here _and she had work, but there were no apologies, just silence.

He left her with a kiss that was almost perfunctory but she stopped him from moving away at the last second, almost the same way she did him only moments prior. Her hands curled around just above his elbows and for a full minute she looked at him, just looking as he held her as well. Her eyes were darker than usual and he could see a look on her face he couldn't quite describe. He wasn't sure if she was hoping to find something but she let him go just as abruptly as she held on to him and turned away before he could say anything else.

The goodbyes were whispered, but still, no apologies.

_Baby, this is our goodbye_

Things went well for the following days.

And then it turned to weeks but it was strained. They came together whenever work allowed it, they ate, talked and spent time together. She told him stories from the office, mentioned her new client now and then while he tried as much as possible to describe to her the case he was working without jeopardizing anything. She listened, he listened.

But it was different now.

After the last fight in her office, things changed only this time the change was noticeable, even to the two of them. They walked around each other now, measured words before they spoke, thought a little too long what to share and what not to share. After the fight it seemed they were too worried about having another because finding themselves on uneven ground was not a feeling neither of them reveled in.

So they became careful.

Maybe too careful.

In time it became more ridiculous than anything. They'd known something had been fractured that day, even though it had been a meaningless fight. They'd been angry and irrational, but they hadn't said anything that wasn't fixable but the problem was that it foretold of what _could _happen if another round came. And it told them that maybe next time they might end up saying things that couldn't be taken back or forgotten.

And once that happened, they knew once they got on that point, there would be no going back. So they became careful, unwilling to further endanger the fragile bond between them.

Things were masked and buried, things were overlooked and they learned to pretend. And they had done it for so many reasons, but mainly it could have been fear of losing what they had, could have been fear of being alone. Although not that putting a label on it mattered because of one fact.

It was fear, plain and simple.

And even more than ever, the fear put them in an even more difficult uneven ground to stand on and they didn't know how to get out of it. They knew how to maneuver fights, knew how to fix things when it came to logic, but this was different. This was alien territory, a new hurdle that demanded that they be delicate with the balance. It didn't come with rules, didn't come with a handbook or a cheat sheet. Nothing—just one rocky road that had them pushing to get through.

So maybe it had been a mistake, trying not to fight because later they would both wonder—separately—if maybe they _should _have fought more.

Maybe then they could have had a better chance.

_Nothing more to say__  
><em>_Nothing more to break__  
><em>_I keep reaching out to you_

The inevitable came.

And for the first time in a long time, both of them found it a little easier to breathe.

It had started with a call one Friday morning while he was in the middle of cooking and she was trying to find a pair of earrings she'd been sure she'd left on her vanity. It wasn't there so she'd been running around while he watched at the corner of his eye. Justice was sprawled on the kitchen floors, watching him and waiting for something to nibble on.

His phone rang and by the time she found her earrings—they were in a purse she'd used a few weeks prior—he was saying goodbye to his friend and new client. He had turned the television on and the whole thing was on the news on CBS.

A robbery turned bad in a gangster-ridden community, seven dead and eight guns on the scene. Blood, bullets, an angry public and a few politicians ducking for cover. Three dead white men, four African-American men who were really just boys as they were barely out of the average twenty-two years of age. The community is crying racial bias, the police are calling it like they see it—a possible gang war.

The crime scene is a mess and they need a hand, who better than someone who'd just gotten out of a tangle that involved him being smeared as a racist only to come out and look nothing like it? Not to mention someone with a stellar record and a good reputation for fairness and principles?

"Leaving?" she stopped in front of him, dressed for work and ready to go with a coffee cup in one hand—one he had prepared for her that morning.

"Yeah," he nodded, "They need a hand and...they want me."

"It looks awful," she admitted, taking in the smeared blood covered floors and the number of officers on the scene as well as the screaming members of the community behind the tapes.

His eyes took in the scenes from the news as well, "It's...bad."

She turned away from the television, her eyes meeting his without wavering, "Then you better go. They're going to need you."

He nodded, "Yeah."

_Hoping you would stay_

By the time she left for work, he's said his goodbyes, grabbed the duffel he had left in her closet and as well as a few toiletries. He'd left enough clothes in her place to tide him over for the trip, which was fortunate because in a matter of two hours or so, he was already on the plane, leaving Chicago and entering yet another arena where guns and bullets spoke to him in ways people and death could not.

He landed, left a message on her voicemail but it had been wooden and almost cold.

She sent him one back, telling him to be careful but didn't mention whether she wanted him to call back or not.

Five days later, he'd only called once and missed her then failed to leave a message.

Then silence reigned.

_Nothing more to give__  
><em>_Nothing left to take__  
><em>_I keep reaching out for you_

One day, nothing happened.

She simply stopped calling and he did nothing else. The messages stopped, the missed moments lessened into nothing and the longer they were apart, the easier each day felt to get over. Her work continued to go in the same pace she wanted it to go, he continued to work on the massacre that seemed to multiply with each evidence the police uncovered. He was getting buried but he refused to let it completely overpower him.

Evidence after evidence, the momentum continued to climb. He plowed along, setting up shop in the city itself and working the case day by day. He stopped noticing that his phone stopped beeping for anything but work and he failed to notice how many days kept passing.

One day, everything stopped.

And only after it happens when he would realize that it _hurt_.

But by then, it would be too late and she'd long realized that she'd been hurt too.

And he won't be surprised because he knew—

She was always ahead of him.

_Reaching out to you__  
><em>_As you turn away_

It took a month before he saw Chicago again.

And twenty-seven days since he last heard from and of her though he couldn't be sure if the same could be said of her when it came to him. If he knew her, he guessed—correctly—that she had been following his case.

It took him another four days before he could come near a phone and dial her all too familiar home number.

She doesn't pick up at eight in the evening on a Thursday.

Answering machine picked up but he didn't bother. Give him another day and he's reaching for his Blackberry and sent her a voicemail. The most awkward he's ever left her and there was no apology, at least not in words though it was implied. He hadn't had much time and quite frankly, he fumbled through it like an idiot.

She took the day before she answered and it was in a voicemail as well.

_"I'm glad you're back. And you're okay. I'm sorry about Detective Trip...I know he was a friend of yours."_

No mention of coming over, of seeing him or having him over. He took that as a sign and saved the message and stayed at his place. It didn't escape him that she'd remembered Trip and that they'd been friends but he wasn't surprised at all.

He had seen the flowers with her name on the day he buried his friend, seen the note that she so obviously written herself with her distinctive handwriting bred from Catholic schools with nuns who sported long stinging sticks for handwriting class. Her note had been brief, but it was clear she had written it with great care and he'd felt his heart constrict at that. She didn't even know the man and yet she had reached out to his family and widowed young wife.

At one point he had meant to call her to let her know how much he appreciated it and how much it reminded him why he loved her. Only the problem was, he forgot. Completely forgot. Why? He would never know.

That was his downfall. Or at least that's what he would always think was his downfall.

And the reason why she made her decision.

_Let go of my hand__  
><em>_So I can feel again_

Seven days after her voicemail he found her sitting on his porch.

It was bitter cold and there was a coating of snow already but he'd been out for a long walk anyway, bundled up tightly in his clothes, but he could not help the rush of something that felt like ice race through his veins when he saw her.

She was wearing a black coat and he could tell it was thick, but he could not imagine she was warm enough, considering he could see her bare knees peeking from between her coat and the boots she wore. She wore no hat so her blonde hair made a striking appearance with the black of her coat, her cheeks pink though her skin seemed normal while the tip of her nose had a light blush of pink. Her hands were stuffed in her coat pockets but when she let them out, he saw them covered in leather.

He would remember her this way for a long, long time.

They went inside his home, him hurrying her in and subtly chastising her for staying out in the weather but she reasoned she had knocked and nobody answered.

Which was bullshit because they both know she could have gone in herself.

And that was all he needed to know that something was about to happen, something that wasn't going to be fun or will involve anything that would do either of them much good.

She was, in every sense however impossible may it seem, nervous but he was a gentleman so he said nothing of it. She stood in front of him in the hall leading into his home as they both soaked in the warmth of the place.

Then the silence came, but he hated it so he didn't let it last long.

"Hello, Diane."

She gave him a small smile then said simply, "Hi."

Then the dreaded words came:

"I need to talk to you."

Twenty-five minutes or so later, she was hurrying out of his home and into her car, cold weather or ice be damned.

_"Diane..."_

_"I can't do this anymore."_

_"I don't—"_

_"Please."_

_"I'm sorr—"_

_"Stop...please, stop."_

_"This isn't how I..."_

_"I know."_

_"I'm sorry."_

_"Let me go."_

Then she did something he hadn't seen her do quite so clearly before—she ran.

And he made no move to stop her, made no move to call her back. In fact, he made no move at all.

Instead, he stood there, watching her leave and watched her car driving away. He watched her until he could no longer see the black Cadillac driving away from his property, disappearing from the grove of trees and from his life.

She had said her goodbye.

_Nothing's going to hurt as much__  
><em>_As that final touch__  
><em>

Three months before everything fell apart, as far back as he could let himself remember.

It was one night when everything had been quiet and she had lain next to him, talking in a way that would always be one of the reasons why he had loved her in the first place. It was in those moments when she let herself come out, let himself see her in a way she rarely let anyone see her.

She was vulnerable, open and she truly talked to him. It was in the darkness when she told him things she would not tell anyone else and those were the moments when a part of him could almost believe that trust was capable of being tangible. He loved those moments and it would be ones he would miss the most.

It was work, a client she had not been keen on yet had defended. He wasn't right, he had taken a life and she could not agree with whatever logic he insisted upon. He cried that it was life or death, self-defense, but he had killed an old, frail, homeless man because he panicked and thought everyone who could not afford Gucci was a thief or someone to be distrusted.

The old man, from what she could piece form the story as she confided in him, had only been asking for directions, but her client had panicked and killed him by pushing him against a wall, hitting his head hard enough to crack it. The court ruled in their favor and they won.

And yet she could not find it in herself to revel in that victory and instead, found herself wondering if, perhaps, her soul was indeed as black as the animals caged behind bars in prisons everywhere.

"I don't like what I turn into sometimes," she had confessed, in the darkness, refusing to let even him see her as they lay next to each other. "It turns me into something I can't recognize...something I don't _want _to recognize."

"You're fine," he had said as he reached for her.

"I'm—"

"It's a job. It's not you," he said simply and pulled her closer and held her. "It's not _you_. You're going to be okay."

She didn't say anything and maybe that was because she couldn't. This was a point she sometimes reached that they don't talk about during the day. This was her weakest, the moment where the tiniest push could send her over and it was rare that she would let him help her through.

He made sure that when moments like that came, he was there for her, made sure she could confide in him and no that no matter what, he would be there, would not run or leave her behind.

She let him hold her and that was one of the nights where he could remember when they stayed touching, skin to skin, until the dawn came.

That was the last time he ever saw her like that.

_No we can't be friends__  
><em>_Cause I don't think I could take seeing you__  
><em>_And knowing where we've been__  
><em>_I hope you understand_

It was the day after she ran from him that found her holding the front door hard enough for her nails to scar the wood.

He was on her porch, waiting for her with the saddest look on his face.

If she had been angry she would have slammed the door and threatened things but the sad fact was that she _wasn't _angry and found herself more along the lines of feeling resigned. It hadn't been an outright battle but she knew well enough that keeping them together had been _a _battle within itself. She wasn't sure if he had fought more or less than she did, but she'd done her part and tried what she could.

Nothing worked so it fell apart, there was only so much she could do and she had had enough.

It hurt a lot more to hold on than to actually let go and she was a smart woman. It took a while and she had tried her damndest not to have it end, but it had come to a point where it was just too foolish to stay.

Love, if there was such thing or if it had been _that _to begin with, wasn't enough.

And she had long accepted that no matter what, when or where, they were bound to go on the same circle over and over again. It was painful, it was hard and it went beyond anything she had ever let herself do in her life. It had been worth it at some point, but in the end, when he had pulled away from her so abruptly, she decided he had left for the last time.

There was only so much she could take.  
><em><br>__"We can try again..."_

_"And end up in the same place. We've done this before, Kurt...we'll do it again."_

_"I can try harder."_

_"So can I, but I won't. We did try and it's just...not meant to be."_

_"Diane..."_

_"You can't will this anymore than I ever could, Kurt."_

_"It's too late."_

_A soft nod and a sad smile that masked a world of hurt, "It's too late."_

He was a good man and perhaps she would always love him.

_One step my heart is breaking__  
><em>_One more my hands are shaking_

"I never meant to hurt you."

She smiled, sadly, "We never mean to hurt, but sometimes...we do in the end."

"I can't..." he looked at her, then looked away, "I'm sorry, Diane."

"I'm sorry too," she said, quietly.

"I care about you, I do," he shifted from one foot to the other, staring at the ground, "And I love you."

Before she could stop herself, she was reaching out to him, an unsteady hand reaching for his face. He started at first then relaxed into her touch, the prickles of hair on his cheek grazing her palms as she held him. Her hands shook ever so slightly, even as she lay it against his warm skin and their eyes met, the sadness apparent and somehow, they both knew that nothing could save them this time.

_The door is closing__  
><em>_And I just can't change it__  
><em>

Dejected green eyes met blue, months' worth remorse, pain and love being communicated without words and the goodbyes, no matter how hard to say, were being said in that moment as she cradled him in her hand for one last time.

"I love you," he said, repeating it not just for her, but for them both. It needed to be said and believed because he meant it.

"I love you too," she said, believing him and meaning it as she replied.

They loved each other and while they _thought _at some point that had been enough, it wasn't this time. He had hurt her and she had hurt him and there was enough to go around to last them a lifetime. It didn't matter who was at fault because this time, they both knew the reality of the situation. No one was at fault, not really.

Because sometimes, as hard and painful as it was to accept, sometimes things just fall apart.

And they were learning to accept that.

Now, all that was left was for them to learn to be without each other again.


End file.
